


Things You Said

by rowofstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Hyperion Heights (Once Upon a Time), Prompt Fic, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold as Detective Weaver, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Vaginal Fingering, Woven Lace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-06-28 07:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: When Detective Weaver's informant didn't show, he thought the night was a bust, until Lacey French made him an offer he couldn't refuse.A series of Woven Lace ficlets in an AU Hyperion Heights,based on this list of prompts.





	1. Things You Said at 1 A.M.

**Author's Note:**

> I only sort of know what I'm doing. Tags will change as the story goes, and prompts will be done in order, though the timeline may jump around a big. Chapter titles are the prompts. There might almost be a plot, if you squint.

“Let's get out of here.”

Lacey French twisted on her stool and leaned one elbow on the bar.

Weaver looked over his shoulder. On the stage was a tall blonde who was slowly removing a white button up blouse that barely covered her sparkly bra to a chorus of whoops and hollers from the crowd. The club wasn’t his usual scene other than it had a serviceable bar with decent whiskey, but he’d come here on business. An informant who worked as a security guard for one of Baron Samedi’s warehouses said he wanted to meet. The guard's shift was supposed to have ended at midnight, but it was now after one and he was still a no show.

He supposed he’d be lucky if the man wasn’t found floating in the harbor in the morning. Samedi seemed to have ears everywhere and cracking his smuggling ring was proving much harder than anticipated. If Seattle PD didn’t make significant headway in the next few weeks, the Police Chief was calling in the Feds, and that was the last thing he and his partner Rogers wanted.

He set his drink down and looked sideways at Lacey French. She’d changed out of her stage outfit, a shiny patent leather ensemble that left his face heated and his jeans uncomfortably tight, and into a soft cotton top that stopped just above her navel and a denim skirt. His eyes skimmed up and down her body, pointedly.

He turned away and lifted his glass, tossing back the last of the whiskey in one gulp. “And go where?”

Lacey licked her lips, and brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand. “Wherever the night takes us, Detective.”

He swallowed hard, remembering when they’d first met, when she’d been pressing charges against a former boyfriend who’d stalked her all the way from Maine to the West Coast. She was a scared, frail little thing, bruised, scraped, and wearing the same clothes as the day before. After the paperwork was done and her boyfriend was in lockup, he insisted on buying her a late dinner. Over greasy cheeseburgers and a platter of onion rings, he’d laughed more than he had in ages. 

A year later, she was taking her clothes off for drunken idiots, and, from the cash he saw being thrown at her, making good money doing it, far more than she would have made if she’d stayed at Mr. Cluck’s. He wondered how many of those idiots had propositioned her, how many had put their hands where they weren’t wanted, and how many she’d taken up on the offer for a few more bills in her pocket.

His hand curled into a fist at the thought, and he glanced sideways at her. She knew better than to look at him for that sort of thing, but it didn’t stop him from wondering about her motives. It was still so easy to recall the sad, haunted blue eyes that looked at him across the interview room and begged him to save her. But they’d been replaced with something else, older, wiser, world-weary. 

There was a hunger there too, tempting and dangerous. 

Weaver pushed away from the bar and stood, peeling a twenty off the wad of cash in his pocket and tossing it on the bar. “For my tab and hers,” he said, nodding at the empty martini glass by her elbow. 

She grinned, and he met her eyes, dark and heated as she licked her shiny pink lips. Instinct told him to excuse himself and run home to his bland, empty apartment, to be a better man and turn down what she offered him, but he was a bastard through and through.

He turned and motioned towards the door. “Lead the way.”

Outside smelled wet and cold in that way only Seattle could after a rain. He used to think the same thing about Glasgow, but that felt like a lifetime and a half ago now, and better left in the past. Lacey tugged his arm and pulled him down the sidewalk, then around the side of the building to the alleyway between the strip club and the sports bar next door.

“My car’s just there,” he said, pointing to the black Charger.

She led him along passed the two dumpsters until they were out of the light from the street. “Don’t care.”

A moment later he found himself pressing her back against the cold brick as she pulled on the lapels of his leather jacket. She smiled and tipped her head up, her lips parted and waiting as he braced one hand on the wall. Her mouth found his neck and he let out a low moan as she started licking and sucking her way up to his ear. He felt a pull at his waist and realized her hands were at his belt. They hadn’t even kissed yet and she was halfway to having his cock out in a dingy alley.

He pulled her hands away, holding her wrists gently. “Slow down, Lacey.”

She bit at his neck and grinned. “No.”

Weaver let out a groan as her hips pitched forward, lifting off the wall to rub against him. He let go of her wrists and slid one hand in her hair, tipping her head back and pulling her away from where she seemed intent on leaving a mark on his skin. She looked up at him, licked at her lips, and he could feel a tingle of electricity between them. 

He bent his head and kissed her, parting her lips with his tongue and pushing into her mouth. She moaned and hooked her leg around his, pulling him closer and grinding against the hard ridge of his zipper. His other hand moved down over the curve of her waist, around to her arse, and under her short skirt, squeezing and pressing against her.

Thunder rumbled overhead, signaling a fresh round of rain, and he pulled away, breaking the kiss. “Not here.”

“Yes,” she said, moving his hand from her backside and guiding it under her skirt. “Here.”

His palm found heat and wetness, and he groaned as he cupped her silk covered sex. Her eyes rolled back as he stroked her damp slit through the fabric, and when he slipped under the elastic and pushed a finger inside her, she keened. If she wanted to come on his fingers in a dirty alley, then who was he to complain.

He added another finger and pressed them deep, feeling a rush of slickness over his palm as she moaned against his mouth. His tongue teased her lips as he thrust into her, his thumb finding the hard nub of her clit with ease and drawing the sweetest whimper from the back of her throat. He pumped his fingers in and out, rougher and harder than he might have if they were in his bed, but she didn't seem to mind as she clawed at his shoulders. Her body clenched and he wished he’d gotten her back to his place so he could spread her out and taste every inch of her, make her scream so loud he’d hear shit from his landlord for weeks.

She came with a sharp cry and buried her face in his neck, her breath hot on his cool skin as she panted. He stroked her slowly through the last flutters of her orgasm, twitching in his pants with every little sigh she let out. Another roll of thunder made her shiver. It was louder and closer this time, and he felt the first drops hit the top of his head. His hand pulled away from her and he looked up, frowning at the swirl of clouds. 

When he looked back at Lacey, her face was flushed and pink with pleasure, her lips red from his mouth. His cock was hard and aching in his jeans, screaming to be inside her, to feel all of her at once in a way he hadn’t with anyone in years. Her eyes twinkled in the faint light, and he smirked. The night wasn’t over yet, and he was more than willing to see where else it would lead him.

“My place or yours?”

Lacey pushed up on her toes to pull at his bottom lip. “Yours.”


	2. Things You Said Through Your Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weaver finally meets his informant, gets some valuable information, and a surprise from Lacey.
> 
> A series of Woven Lace ficlets in an AU Hyperion Heights, [based on this list of prompts.](https://timelordthirteen.tumblr.com/post/186164042447/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear these two will do more than just have sex. Probably. Chapter titles are the prompts.

"Fuck."

Weaver's jaw was clenched, the sinewy muscles of his neck taut as his head tipped back. He cursed again and squeezed the arm of the cheap sofa until his knuckles were white, fighting the urge to move.

Lacey looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mirth. She would have smiled too, if her mouth wasn't otherwise occupied. Her lips tightened around his cock as drew back up his length, pressing the flat of her tongue against the thick vein and pulling another strangled noise from his throat. She let him go with a wet pop, and grinned as her hand continued to stroke slowly up and down.

"Lacey," he gasped, sagging in his seat. "Jesus…"

"Has nothing to do with it," she finished for him, smirking.

Another little squeeze at the base of his cock had him pitching his hips up off the sofa, and she felt a rush of arousal between her legs. Now that she knew what it was like to have Weaver buried deep inside her, she wanted it again, as soon as possible.

He'd come to the club again to meet his informant, for real this time. Whatever had delayed him last time was big. A surprise late night shipment, that Samedi had overseen and signed for himself, and the guard had managed to get pictures on his phone. He’d expected drugs, black market medications, maybe even exotic animals, but Samedi was into far worse things than any of those.

They needed a place to talk, out of prying ears and eyes, and Lacey had suggested the back room. It was supposed to be for private shows, but everyone knew way more went on than just lap dances. The information had been exchanged while Lacey rocked and rolled her hips and ass in time with the music. By the end of the song, Weaver could hardly think straight and the guard's eyes were bugging out of his head as her sequined bra fell to the floor.

A few seconds later, the poor guard was out on his arse, a couple hundred dollars richer, and Weaver realized he was alone with Lacey and a raging hardon. What happened next was probably inevitable.

"You wanna bend me over and fuck me, Detective?"

Her question brought him back to reality, and he tensed a second before letting out a slow breath. "Yeah."

She smiled and mimicked him by lapping at the head of his cock. "You got anything on you?"

Weaver blinked and then realized what she meant. Sex hadn't been on his mind when he left the station tonight, and there was no protection on him, except for his gun. He shook his head, and Lacey pouted.

"Guess you'll have to come in my mouth then, won't you?" He practically whined, and she drew her hand up and over the fat, red tip of his dick. "Don't want to leave any evidence, right?"

Too far gone to care, his head rolled side to side as she put her mouth on him again and hollowed her cheeks. He swore and pounded his fist on the sofa arm, and an embarrassingly short time later, spilled himself on her tongue. Vaguely, he felt the flexing of her throat, and his eyes went wide.

Lacey sat back on her heels and wiped a hand over her mouth. "Feel better?"

"What about you?" he asked, reaching for her. 

She let him pull her up to straddle his lap, putting her bare breasts in his face. He pressed a soft kiss to the middle of her chest as he cupped both breasts with his hands, thumbing her hard nipples. It was her turn to swear, and he grinned, slipping a hand down between her legs. The gusset of her panties were soaked, and he rubbed back and forth, pressing the damp fabric into her slit.

She moaned and bit her lip as she pulled his hand away, touching his fingertips to her lips. Her scent was all over him already, and she was tempted to let him have his way. "I can wait 'til we get back to your place."

Weaver frowned. "I thought you had one more dance tonight?"

She shrugged and the corner of her mouth quirked. "I did a private show, that counts as my last one."

His eyebrows lifted as she raked her teeth gently over the pad of his thumb. "So... I'm paying for this?"

"You still got a big roll of cash in your pocket, don't you? You brought five and only gave that idiot two." Her lips closed over the tip of his finger, sucking softly until his hips shifted beneath her.

"That was for -" he paused and swallowed - "for information."

"What?” Lacey sat back, drawing away from him and pushing out her bottom lip in an exaggerated moue. “I'm not worth it?"

Weaver shook his head and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him. "No, sweetheart, you're worth a whole lot more."


	3. Things You Said Too Quietly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weaver and Lacey go back to his place again, but this time there’s some unexpected and unwanted feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK guys. This is probably crap. It’s also unbeta’d so there’s a metric ton of typos. My bad.

“Or you could stay…”

Weaver swallowed and closed his eyes at the sound of the apartment door slamming shut, silently chastising himself for saying what he was thinking. That was the last thing he needed; Lacey staying the night, Lacey waking him up in some sinful way and fucking his brains out before he had to go to work, Lacey getting - attached.

_Bollocks._

Twice they’d come back to his place and shagged like their life depended on it. The first time, after she’d propositioned him in the club and he made her come in the alley beside it, she’d stayed for a bit and then left in the early morning. Of course she’d woken him up for a second go before that. This time it was just after midnight and she was already out the door. He sat up and threw back the sheets, forcing himself out of bed. 

The bathroom was as sparse and neat as usual, as was the rest of the apartment, as if no one had been here but him. Certainly not a gorgeous woman like Lacey. He showered quickly, not wanting to think about how he could have slipped in behind her while she was there, and put on a clean pair of underwear before getting back in bed. Tomorrow he’d need to strip the bed and wash the sheets.

He rolled over and stared at the pillow where Lacey’s head had been, where she had writhed in pleasure under the ministrations of his mouth, fingers, and cock. There were two long hairs left behind, curling at the ends, and he sucked in a deep breath through his nose, catching just a hint of the scent she’d left behind.

* * *

_1 hour ago..._

“ _Please._ ”

Weaver lifted his head, smirking. “What was that?”

Lacey made a frustrated noise and pulled at the sheets with her hands as her head flopped back against the pillow. His mouth was shiny and slick with her juices, and her pussy was hot and throbbing with need. He’d been determined to return the favor for the rather spectacular blowjob she’d given him at the club, and she had to admit he was extremely skilled with his mouth, but all he’d done since he got her on the bed was drive her spare. Three times now she’d been at the edge of an intense orgasm only for him to slow down or stop entirely, leaving her gasping and writhing.

“Fuck - you -” she said in between breaths.

Weaver grinned and returned to the task at hand, which was continuing to drive Lacey French insane. He licked at her softly, tracing her entrance with the tip of his tongue and feeling the little twitches of muscle. It made him press down into the mattress, trying to ease his aching erection. Then he moved up to press a series of gentle, wet kisses to her swollen clit before taking it between his lips. He kept up a light but steady suction as he pushed two fingers inside her, finding the same spot again with ease, and riding the desperate jut of her hips when she lifted off the mattress.

“Please, please please!”

Her begging was delightful, but he was pretty sure if he didn’t let her come soon he might end up less a few body parts. She started to clench around his fingers and he lifted his head again, watching as she gasped and rocked her hips with the motion of his hand. After a few more thrusts, he stopped, and she let out a growling, feral sound that made his cock pulse. Warm, sticky precum wet the front of his boxers and he sat up, hastily shoving them down and tearing open one of the condoms she’d laid out on the bed.

“I hate you - so much,” she said, licking her lips as he slid the rubber down his shaft.

He grinned and moved over her, bracing on one arm so he could reach between them. He pumped his fingers inside her, curling them and rubbing this thumb over her clit until her breath caught. Her mouth was hanging open, no sounds were coming out, and he knew she was right at the edge. Lacey might like to swear and scream when she fucked, but he learned their first night together that when she was well and truly gone, overwhelmed with pleasure, she was breathless and quiet.

“No, you don’t,” he said, quickly replacing his fingers with his cock.

Three hard, deep thrusts and he heard her breath hitch. He groaned as she spasmed around him, pulling at his cock. His hips rocked, moving in shallow strokes until she let out a high pitched whine and wrapped herself around him. Her legs came up, holding him close, and her hands grabbed at his shoulders as her body shuddered from head to toe. He buried his face in the crease of her neck, half covered by her hair, and let out a long, low moan as he came.

They were still for a moment, waiting until their breathing returned to normal. He pressed gentle kisses to the side of her head before he moved, pulling away and slipping out of her with a sigh.

“Can I use your shower?” Lacey asked, stretching her arms and legs.

Weaver shrugged. “Sure.”

She climbed off the bed and gathered up her clothes from the floor before walking out of the bedroom. A few minutes later he heard the shower turn on and closed his eyes.

* * *

Weaver sighed and turned onto his back. 

He wondered if Lacey would go home or back to the club. It was too easy to imagine her dancing like it never even happened, picking up the money the men would toss on the stage, or tuck into the space between her breasts. They’d stare up at her with pure, unguarded lust, half hard in their pants and wishing they could fuck her.

They wouldn’t know he already had.

He huffed and pressed his palms to his eyes before dragging them down his face. This couldn’t keep happening. His work was dangerous, even more so with what he’d learned about Samedi tonight. In the morning, he’d have to write it all up and bring the guard in to sign an affidavit. Then they’d see if there was enough to get a warrant for Samedi’s warehouses.

Maybe it would all go smoothly, and there would be no need for FBI involvement or informants wearing wires. But if it didn’t, he couldn’t afford having Lacey French as a distraction.


	4. Things You Said Over the Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone call changes nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am again. No smut this time. Sorry?

“What are you wearing?”

Weaver rolled his eyes. “I’m on a fucking stakeout, Lacey, what do you think I’m wearing? A gold thong?”

Beside him, Detective Rogers sputtered and coughed, nearly gagging on the french fry he’d just shoved in his mouth. Weaver grinned and gave him a light punch in the shoulder, but Rogers just glared.

“The _fuck,_ mate?” Rogers groused, brushing salt and fry crumbs off his jacket and lap. “If you’re going to have phone sex with your _girlfriend,_ please do it on your own time. I really don’t need that image in my head.”

Weaver shook his head while Lacey giggled in his ear. “Not my girlfriend, and definitely not phone sex. What the hell do you want Lace?”

Lacey’s nose wrinkled at the way he immediately shot down the notion that they could be in a relationship. It stung for some reason, and she didn’t want to think about why. “Don’t flatter yourself, _Detective,_ that wasn’t why I was calling.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, sighing and shifting in his seat. Forty minutes in the car and he was already restless.

“Your friend was here.”

He made a face. “What _friend?_ ”

She shook her head. “The one who could barely keep his eyes in his head while I was giving you two a private show. The one who just left here after blowing most of the money you paid him on two lap dances and shitty domestic beer.”

“That fucking idiot." Weaver sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Did he spend more on the dances or the beer?”

She laughed and leaned back on the velvet sofa that flanked one wall of the dancers’ dressing room. “Judging by the fact that Bruno had to carry him out and dump him in a cab, the beer.”

He blew out a breath and explained what she’d said to Rogers, who promptly rolled his eyes and thumped his head against the seat. “Please tell me he kept his mouth shut?”

“As far as I know, yeah, but if I hear different I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks,” he replied, and found himself actually meaning it. 

So far Lacey had been quite helpful, much more than she needed to be, and there was a nagging voice in his head wondering why. He really didn’t know anything about her and how she’d gone from a woman fleeing an abusive relationship to a stripper in two years. He didn’t know anything about her life before Hyperion Heights. Maybe she’d been a dancer before. Her useless ex had a previous conviction for running a brothel and drug possession. He didn’t want to think about what that might have meant for Lacey.

“Is that all?” he said finally.

Lacey hummed. “Well, I was also thinking maybe I could come over again? If you were... _up_ for it.”

Weaver licked his lips and stole a sideways glance at Rogers. His partner was busy cleaning up the wrappers from the burgers they’d picked up. A very stupid part of him wanted to say yes to Lacey’s offering, and hope that no one showed at Samedi’s tonight. But just as he was trying to come up with an excuse why she shouldn’t come over, a sleek, black Mercedes pulled up to the gates that separated Samedi’s warehouses from the rest of the storage facilities at the docks. A moment later, the man himself got out of the back of the car.

“I have to go,” he said hastily, lifting the binoculars to his eyes for a better view.

“Oh, okay.” She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice, and pushed to her feet, tugging down the leather mini skirt she’d put on for her next show. “It’s cool, I might not have time anyway. There’s a bachelor party that just came in. Could keep me here all night.”

Weaver lowered the binoculars and bit his tongue to keep from making a sound. The idea of Lacey being pawed at by a bunch of drunken idiots, one of whom was probably getting married in the next few days, wasn’t one he cared for, but he had no place to say anything about how she made her money. Through the windshield, he watched as Samedi and two men went into the side door of the warehouse.

“Well, good luck then,” he snapped, before pulling the phone away from his ear and tapping end call.

Rogers shook his head and looped the strap of the digital camera around his neck. “Done sweet-talking your girlfriend and ready to do your job?”

“Not my fucking girlfriend,” Weaver repeated, pushing open the door of the car. “Come on, if we go around the back over there we can get up on the roof and have a good view when they come back out.”

Rogers rolled his eyes and followed.

* * *

Lacey dropped her phone in her purse with a huff, and then bent to check herself in the mirror. She reapplied a layer of deep red lipstick and ran her fingers through her hair before drawing it back in a gold clip. Straightening, she tugged the white button up shirt down a bit to expose more of her chest, pushed up and out by the black leather and lace bustier she wore beneath it, and frowned. The leather was hot and uncomfortable and her arches were aching from the thigh high boots she’d chosen to complete the naughty teacher-librarian-secretary-whatever stupid male fantasy outfit.

Her feet were aching and her right knee had been stiff since she’d lost her balance coming off the stage just an hour ago. There was a blister on her little toe too, from shoving her feet into six inch blue heels five nights a week. She could catalog a myriad of pains if she let herself, but it was best not to dwell. 

A deep breath in and out steadied her as she repeated to herself why she needed this job. The money was good, and money meant safety. Gary may have gone to prison, but she’d used every last cent she had in her efforts to get away from him. Someday he’d get out, and she might need all her savings to run again. Maybe one of the groomsmen in the bachelor party would want a special show, and she could go home with a little extra cash under the table. 

She swallowed against the nauseous feeling in her stomach and blew out a slow breath as she slipped into the back hallway of the club. A very foolish part of her thought maybe things would be different in Hyperion Heights, maybe even different with Weaver. But that wasn’t the way life dealt cards to Lacey French.

The heavy curtain hung in front of her, smelling faintly musty. One of the other dancers pushed through and hurried back to the dressing room, the curtain parting and closing quickly behind her. Lights flashed over Lacey’s face and she blinked. The club was packed tonight and that made her stomach flip again, for different reasons. There was something about the performance that she liked, in spite of it all. The attention, the rush, the way she was just out of reach to all of them. 

She squared her shoulders, pushing out her breasts, and closed her eyes against the bright lights as she stepped out onto the stage.


End file.
